Musing's of a Poet
by Thorn'sDarklighter7
Summary: Spike muse's over the man he was and a little on the man er vampire he is, and just on life in general. Please read and review. Hope you enjoy. My first fanfiction! sorry that the first paragrph's a little dry I'll revise it later.


**Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own anything in the Buffyverse all is the creation off the incredible Joss Whedon. The poem is from Angel season 5 the last episode written by Spike about Cecily but I thought it worked for all of Spike's lovers. The following is written for the readers enjoyment not for profit.**

**Spoilers: Many **

**Author's note: This had been bouncing around in my head for awhile now, feels great to have written out. It's set in season seven during… I think the second last episode before the battle and minutes before Buffy realizes their going to win. I thought it'd be fun to see Spike's musings at the time. Spike is one of my favourite characters partly because of his complexity, and partly because of how he loves with everything he has. Any way enjoy and Puh - leaze review it'd be very much appreciated. **

**Cheers, Thorn**

**P.S sorry about any grammer mistakes, I'm working on it ;) oh yah and thank you for reading.**

**P.P.S just fixed some very embarrassing mistakes, sorry  
**

History is strange, it can't be relied on. Memory though is different, different for those who actually bother to remember that is. They say that memory is not reliable but I don't think that's true, I think its people who aren't reliable, I think they purposely forget for whatever whim or reason they think they have.

I don't forget, my memory is long, I just don't like reciting everything that's in it mostly because I have been alive in some form or another for a very long time. I'm not the smartest man but like I said my memory is good. History does remember me a little, but not ME, not William, not the William I was before. There is one thing about me though, deep in the archives of the British museum. A notebook filled with pages and pages of poetry, some good and some not so good, all signed William Pratt. There's even more in there, about a monster, a monster known as William the Bloody… or as more preferred by me… Spike.

As a human I was soft, weak. Not physically, it was something in my character, it was in the way I behaved. I was the bookish sort always reading or scribbling poetry in some form or another. I was not a social person, but I still went to all the parties, just to catch a glance (or rather stare in a stalkerish way) of her… That was the first time Love made me her bitch.

I wrote so many poems for her, about her, my Cecily, who was never really mine at all. I wrote about her golden angelic like locks, her sapphire eyes, and her laugh which now that I look back was more than a little nasally. She had been in my mind beautiful, kind, compassionate, someone who could, ha, someone who could love me. How wrong I was, she was uncaring and shallow, her heart was as shrivelled and un-beating as mine now is.

My life changed so much in but a few moments. I became everything I wasn't in life. I was feared, powerful, a murderer with no remorse, a monster. I'm going to skip ahead now, skip the rejection of the cow known as Cecily, the new, amazing, dark life changing brought, the second time love had me clutching at her skirts like a little mewling whelp, to my dark princess, my Dru. Bloody hell I'll skip Angelus. I wish life was like the telly with a fast forward and rewind button, at least the bloody mute button for Christ's sake. I wish… no wishing only brings trouble, I'll skip ahead some more, skip the love of the hunt, the iron taste of the blood and pain, I'll skip ahead to now, the present, where the slayer is sleeping in my arms.

Buffy, she's everything I ever wanted, a firecracker. This time I don't mind being love's bitch. I feel connected to her, if only… If only she loved me back. I don't doubt that she has a soft spot for me, but love? I think it's a little one sided… although she did pick me over Angel tonight… so maybe… huh maybe. Yah memory sucks. Who knows what will come tomorrow, tomorrow we all may die, but tonight I have the love of my life dreaming in my arms, tonight I am her champion… I guess it's the moment that counts.

"My soul is wrapped in harsh repose,

midnight descends in raven-colored clothes,

but soft...behold! A sunlight beam cutting a swath of glimmering gleam.

My heart expands,

'tis grown a bulge in it,

inspired by your beauty...

effulgent."


End file.
